The Strangers
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: Alfred understands enough to get by in life. Matthew tries to tell them that he's really just a boring person. Arthur arrives at the Academy and doesn't even bother to unpack immediately or prepare for classes. This is their story, I guess. AU, slash


So, on Dec. 21, I will have been writing fanfiction for 5 years. ...What have I accomplished? Have I yet written the fanfic I will forever be known for? Is this what a midlife crisis feels like? Or am I simply high off my cough drops?

Anways, I still have the poll up. I'm gonna leave it up for a bit longer. This story is an AU revolving around Arthur, Matthew, and Alfred. Its been bouncing around in my head. I started thinking about the book "A Separate Peace" and listened to the song "Belle" from the Hunchback of Notre Dame (the play not the lying Disney movie -bitches loudly about Disney misleading her-). Its kinda a weird style I used...it'll probably straighten out in later chapters...If I decide to continue...BWAHAHAH-shot-

Warnings: language, slash, AU, OOC-ness, potential fail,

Pairing: mentioned Alfred/Matthew, maybe eventual Arthur/Matthew, Arthur/Matthew/Alfred or something -shrug-

Disclaimer: Thank goodness I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

There are certain notions Alfred Jones has which he believes are self-evident. If they are anything less than crystal clear, then the fault lies not with the notion but with other people who are simply wrong if they believe otherwise.

These notions are as follow:

1. Capitalism works.

2. Guns don't kill people.

3. Lady Liberty is the only woman worth loving.

4. Coffee is better than tea.

5. Books must be taken with a grain of salt.

6. Matthew Williams is as wonderful as he is cruel.

7. If it's not his fault, then it's probably Arthur's.

* * *

Matthew Williams has all the virtues of a saint and all the vices of an atheist.

He is as brave as he is cowardly.

He is as gentle as he is violent.

He is as brilliant as he is incredibly, fucking dense.

And, sometimes, his kindness is his greatest weapon.

Alfred thinks he's two-faced. Arthur thinks he's wasting his potential.

Both think he's some sort of enigma.

Matthew tries to tell them that he's really just a boring person.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was kicked out of nearly every selective, upper-class academy, boarding school, and boys' school in the United Kingdom and a few on the Continent.

He only ever wanted two things in life.

1. To join the Royal Navy

2. To learn to play the guitar

The only reason he has behaved himself at the International Academy in New York City is because his parents sent him a Gibson for his birthday so there was no need to attempt a more successful Guy Fawkes on the chapel of the preparatory school.

He figures the guitar will keep him busy until he figures out a good way to get Mum and Dad's attention for the first want.

But he can't be too sure of his stay at the Academy because he's already on the Shit List of Alfred F. Jones because of an incident for which he is being wholly held accountable which eventually led to him and the obnoxious Yank going at it at least 50% of the time like drenched cats and starving dogs driven mad by the fly-ridden heat of the city. They are called into the Headmaster's office at least once a month for fighting and disrupting the relative peace.

It is only thanks to Matthew Williams' favor that the two of them are even allowed to continue for another semester.

Alfred F. Jones is a pain and an ass and a pain in the ass all at once.

Matthew Williams is the descendent of the man who founded the Academy because of a drunken dare. His family has made the largest financial donations since then and he could be the prince of the school if he so wanted.

Matthew Williams could do a lot of things if he so wanted.

(So could Alfred F. Jones, but Arthur suspected that the git was too afraid to plan that far ahead.)

* * *

Alfred F. Jones was birthed by a Southern Belle and raised by a kind-hearted Virginian banker when that Belle flew back South.

Alfred's mother was a golden-haired stunner with cloudy blue eyes and a perpetually dreamy look on her delicate face. She had frail hands and always hummed soothing lullabies. Her wrists were slender as were her ankles. She spoke French and studied Latin but found both languages dreadfully dull. She was always more interested in love than staying in love. She adored children but only if they weren't her's. She was flighty and easily charmed and vapid in the worst ways and one day she just left, leaving behind an infant son and a heartbroken husband.

Alfred's father hated interfering in other's problems. He tried to teach his son the delicate balance of standing up for what's right and being outright obtrusive.

Unfortunately, in that respect, he failed miserably. But he was only human. And a widower at that.

He never remarried. He wore an apron when he cooked and sang when he washed dishes. He took his son camping and signed him up for football season.

Alfred never really missed his mother. He remembered enough and found enough of her in the world around him.

(Another reason he sleeps with Matthew is because he remembers her too much when he's with the blond and when the blond slips away to sleep, Alfred likes to think this time he succeeds in keeping an otherworldly Delilah.)

And even if he didn't, that was fine too because his father was more than what he needed.

* * *

Matthew Williams has two parents and has always had two parents.

His mother was a Quebecois separatist who loved de Gaulle but hated France and refused to sweeten anything with sugar if she could help it. She was a professor with more degrees than she knew what to do with and taught at McGill until she became disillusioned with everything she had ever known and demanded her husband that they have a child immediately.

His father is a mild-mannered man with more money than he knew what to do with. He wanted to buy the Toronto Maple Leafs but even his wife who never watched hockey told him that team sucked. So, instead he is true altruist and sometimes picks up hobbies at a whim.

(He once took up taxidermy but quit immediately when Matthew walked in on him skinning a mouse and screamed bloody murder for hours.)

He also has little respect for authority, little respect for norms and political correctness. He straddles the fine line of arrogance and self-confidence.

(But he's a good father and that counts for something.)

The entire Williams line often behaves in ways no one understands.

Matthew realizes this and tries very hard to be practical. But everyone expects him to be just as eccentric as the rest of the clan. They all watch him, waiting to see what he'll do, what he'll become, and how badly he'll fuck up.

Matthew really hates the attention.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland had three parents: his father (a crime fiction writer of respectable success), his mother (a former stage actress who still lives in the apex of her career—before her husband found out she was pregnant and begged her to keep this one), and his Aunt Bess.

Aunt Bess was a woman made of iron and stuck together with honey. She had hair redder than the flames of hell. She was unattractive and favored make-up even for bed. She never married though not for lack of suitors.

She was a civil servant and joked she was married to England, anyways.

Arthur went to Aunt Bess before he dared go to his parents. She had been the one to bathe and change him as a babe. She had rocked him to sleep and forced him to eat his asparagus. She called her sister a "twit" and her brother-in-law a "wanker" and Arthur "chit".

Unfortunately, she passed away and Arthur showed his grief by doing his damndest to get expelled from his fancy school in Scotland so he could attend her funeral.

He succeeded.

* * *

Alfred understands enough to get by in life. He could understand more, if he so chose, but he doesn't want to.

Ignorance is bliss and ignorance is easy because he was once as brilliant as he is and now people have all sorts of expectations.

He was only trying to help and be heroic and shit, but now they want more and more and its never enough because it feels like he's sold his soul and sometimes he can't breathe and sometimes he has these silent panic attacks that leave him gripping something, knuckles bone white, and feeling as though he was doused in ice water.

It is after one of these fits (that took place in the laundry room of their dormitory) that he formally meets Matthew Williams.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice asks him as a hand ghosts over his shoulder, not quite willing to touch.

Alfred forces himself to laugh and adjusts his GI glasses. "Haha, never better!" He smiles at the other boy who watches him warily, over next to the quarter machine.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers this stranger. The other boy has wheat-colored blond hair that curls around his ears and frames his face with an annoying curl that sticks out. His blue-violet eyes look calculatingly dazed behind steel-rimmed glasses and give his face a rather naïve expression.

He recognizes the other as Matthew Williams, resident unknown celebrity. Everyone knows he attends the Academy but a vast majority can't claim to having seen him.

Alfred has seen him before at Student Council meetings. He always takes notes and sits quietly, not really contributing, just hands a piece of paper to the Sergeant at Arms before leaving quickly.

Matthew Williams continues to watch him and Alfred feels his friendly grin droop a bit, slowly eaten away by a testy smile. "Seriously man. It's cool. I'm cool."

"You shouldn't mix your whites with red shirts." The other blond points out, softly. "Unless you like pink socks."

Alfred's head jerks around so fast and he throws open the washer, digging through the soggy clothes, soapy water sluicing down his forearms and soaking his plaid trousers and puddling on the floor. "Fuck!"

He continues to curse loudly, the word "fuck" dropping like a burning mantra from his lips, his sneakers squeaking against the wet linoleum as he finally finds that elusive red shirt. Colored water drips from the waterlogged article and he sighs. Looking over his shoulder at Matthew, he flashes a boyish grin at the other. "Thanks dude!"

Matthew shrugs, a faint smile on his face. "Sure."

It is then Alfred sees the laundry bag the other is clenching between his fingers.

"This washer's empty." The blond says cheerfully, patting the off-white appliance next to him. "And I've got some detergent if you need it."

"Thanks." Matthew says, making his way over. As he yanks open the door and begins to shove in an assortment of hoodies and boxers, he asks, "Alfred, right?"

"Whoa, are you psychic or something?" The American asks, eyes wide and sparkling. "'Cause that'd be so kickass—"

"You're in my Economics class." Matthew interrupted, his voice sounding amused. He straightens up and shuts the door of the washer. "Maybe if you didn't sleep through the entire class, you'd know that." He teased, easing quarters into the machine.

"Hey! It's a nine am class. Who wouldn't sleep through that?" Alfred huffed, rolling his eyes. Cocking his hip and leaning against the washer, the Virginian feels the dregs of ice left by his attack melt.

It might have something to do with the fact that Matthew listens and lets him lead the conversation instead of asking why he was shaking and gripping the washer just a few minutes ago (like most people tended to).

* * *

Matthew Williams likes Alfred F. Jones almost immediately because the other doesn't treat him like he's special. Alfred F. Jones punches him in the shoulder three minutes into their discussion (when Matthew disagrees with his assessment of Arrested Development) and leans extra close when he's excited and doesn't care that Matthew is visibly uncomfortable and slaps him on the back as they leave the laundry room and invites him over to his room to play Xbox.

Alfred F. Jones sees Matthew Williams the boy and not Matthew Williams the heir.

Matthew doesn't believe in many things strongly but does believe that one always has to prove them selves to everyone else.

When he was younger, his mother set out his clothes for him and sent him to school in sweater vests and neatly pressed khakis.

He was bullied and pushed into the dirt and called a "faggot".

The third time it happened and trying to talk it out with the bully failed, Matthew stormed home and tore out all his nice clothes and cried and cried until his parents took him shopping and let him pick out new clothes.

(He learned early on the value of tears and used them to his advantage.)

The bullies stopped picking on him for his clothes. But soon they began picking on him again because he was girly looking.

After the third time he was called "princess" and one of the older boys squeezed his leg a little too hard, he punched the boy in the teeth.

(He learned early on that talking was all well and good, but the bully would keep going and going unless one was able to break his nose in one blow.)

The next time he was bullied, it was because he managed to win over the prettiest girl in the grade. It wasn't hard. All he did was quote some poetry he found in his one of his mother's numerous tomes and she practically melted against him.

Unfortunately, the prettiest girl in the grade was an absolute bore.

Their relationship lasted until the end of the week and Matthew gave her a rose and wished her all the happiness in the world.

He was called a "faggot" and "pussy" and Matthew was suspended for sending the bully to the emergency room.

It was around this time his parents thought he had an anger problem and enrolled him in hockey.

(After his first hockey game, he learned crying didn't solve anything. But fists did.)

Matthew loved hockey, but he didn't really have an anger problem.

(He learned early on the value of hiding things lest people get the wrong idea.)

Soon enough, Matthew Williams learned that he was sick of people assuming things about him and writing him away based on stupid assumptions. He was tired of people always watching him and watching him and watching him.

He was smart and good-looking and wealthy, as people were fond of telling him.

Well, if he was so "perfect", why was he so fucking miserable?

Clearly, it was everyone else ruining his so-called "perfection". If only they didn't pay any attention to it…to him…

He learned early on the charm of invisibility.

(Later he learned the downside.)

* * *

Arthur Kirkland arrives at the Academy and doesn't even bother to unpack immediately or prepare for classes. Instead he researches the underground music scene and finds the nearest place to get a piercing (just in case) and picks a fight with some French derelict just because he can.

(Its quite energizing that fight and he and Francis make a silent, mutual agreement to do it more often.)

Then, that night, he sneaks out and flirts with some loose-looking American trollops and gets smashed, staggering back to the dorm sometime past two am.

As he makes his way into the Common Room, the lights are still on.

"Bloody fucking light." He grumbles, running fingers through shaggy sandy-blond hair. "Bollocks and pish-posh."

Its then he hears a creak and whirls around, green eyes wide as he catches the culprits.

"What're you lookin' at?" He slurs at the two blonds.

"Your drunk ass." One of them snorts. "C'mon Mattie." He tugs at the other boy's sleeve. "Maybe the monitor will find him."

The other blond begins to walk away as well and Arthur collapses into an armchair, head lolling back against the upholstery.

It is then Matthew stops and turns to Alfred. "We can't just leave him here." He says, a little pointedly.

"Well, we can't keep him either." Alfred retorts.

Matthew gives him a withering glare. "If you ever want to see the True North again, then you'll help me get him to his room."

Alfred glares at him, blue eyes sharp, a full forty-four seconds before sighing loudly and throwing his hands up. "Fine!" He draws out the 'i' and makes his way to the nearly unconscious teen. "I'd better get a damn good reward." He grouches.

Matthew merely smiles mysteriously. "Oh, I think you'll like it."

Alfred feels his mood brighten and doesn't even falter when he slings the other boy over his shoulder.

The two eventually deposit Arthur in Matthew's room because it turns out they have no idea who the drunken teen is or what room is his.

Alfred watches as Matthew tucks in the other teen, a little sulkily to be sure. However, the petty emotion turns into a full-blown tantrum when Arthur, lethargically and completely out of it, murmurs, "You're a pretty one, pet." And then he strokes Matthew's pulse point with his thumb and promptly becomes dead to the world.

Alfred is red-faced and fuming.

Matthew is red-faced and bemused.

Arthur just snores, oblivious to the fact he just broke one of the unspoken rules of the Academy.

* * *

Thoughts? Feelings? Questions? Concerns?


End file.
